


A Matter of Time

by thelightninginme



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Grief/Mourning, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 08:26:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9430037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelightninginme/pseuds/thelightninginme
Summary: This is all Shepard has left of him - a message, a few photographs, and her imperfect human memory.And she has her friends, with their uncanny ability to tear down her walls whether she wants them to or not.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This subject matter has been deftly handled many times by the many excellent writers on this site. But, as much as I liked the Thane romance overall, it just really bothered me that no one said anything after he died, especially given what a big theme “ride or die with your crew” was in ME3, and especially how many scenes there were where I was like, “this seems like a great time to mention Thane? No?? Okay then” and there wasn’t any kind of closure at all until the Citadel DLC…so I wrote this. My first time writing for Mass Effect, so I hope everyone is reasonably in-character. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, and hit me up on tumblr at the same username if you ever want to talk about Shepards or Ryders or sad headcanons.

It was Liara who found her first. “Shepard! Goddess…” Liara hugged her abruptly. “I’m so sorry.” 

Was Liara standing there with her in Bailey’s office as he told her to get to the hospital, the sound of his voice dimmed by the blood roaring in her ears? Shepard can’t quite remember. Liara releases her, but keeps a firm grip on Shepard’s shoulders. “What can I do?” 

Shepard doesn’t answer at first, blinking in the quiet chaos of the still-smoldering Presidium. Her expression is mirrored on the drawn faces of the people that have since emerged from their hiding places. She is not sure how much time she spent at the hospital. Apparently she was speaking with Kolyat longer than she thought. Perhaps he had simply been too polite to shoo her away. Or perhaps he found answering her multitude of questions as welcome a distraction as she had found in asking them. While Thane had plenty of time to consider what would come next, Shepard had not, and she found herself peppering his son with questions about what the drell believed about burials and the afterlife, having only gotten bits and pieces from Thane. He answered her questions kindly and patiently, as if they weren’t speaking about his father, as if the world wasn’t collapsing around them, as if pockets of the Citadel were not still on fire. She wonders if serenity is a Krios thing, or if it’s a species-wide trait. 

Shepard has never wanted to force herself on Kolyat, but she does not want to lose him, either. In the end Shepard settles for offering her contact information and a choice. “I’d like to hear from you, sometimes. If you want.” 

He is too kind to reject her outright. “I…maybe,” he says to the floor. But then he surprises her by looking her right in the eyes. “Shepard - he - be careful out there.” 

“I’ll try. You too.” 

And Kolyat had gone to find Bailey, to see what he could do. 

Shepard takes a deep breath and exhales very slowly. “Point me towards whatever work needs doing,” she says to Liara. 

“Shepard…” 

What, did Liara expect her to break down and cry in the middle of the Citadel? “Please. I need something to do.” 

“W-well…I saw Garrus talking with a group of C-Sec officers not long ago. He would have a better idea of what to do than I.” 

Good. Garrus will be no less worried, but at least he’ll be less obvious about it. He doesn’t poke and prod at her cracks the way Liara, with her ruthless scholar’s curiosity, does without even meaning to. Sure enough, when she finds him, he barely looks at her twice before sending her to the holding zone at the docks. Something he’s heard on C-Sec radio chatter about contaminated Medi-Gel dispensers. True, the worst of the fighting didn't happen in that part of the Citadel, but that just means it is even more crowded with frightened people than usual. She weaves her way through the crowd until she can find someone who can tell her what is going on. She has no words of comfort for these frightened civilians, not today. 

As she busies herself with the dispensers, she glances over at the memorial wall and recognizes Cortez standing there. Her leader's instinct pushes her to go talk to him. She was the one who suggested he do this, after all. He turns and nods in acknowledgment as she approaches, but he says nothing, and neither does Shepard. Truly, she can think of nothing to say, nothing at all, and even if she could she does not think she could speak around the lump in her throat.

“I’m sorry for your loss, Commander,” he says eventually, turning to face her. 

She can already tell she’s going to get tired of people saying that to her. Still, coming from Steve, with Robert’s photo beaming at them from the memorial wall, she can appreciate the sentiment. “Thanks,” she manages. She clears her throat. “What - does the whole Citadel know?” 

Steve cracks a smile. “Small ship like the Normandy, everyone’s business is everyone else’s business. For better or worse.” 

“Oh, I know. I grew up on ships.” 

“Then let me say - if you want talk, ever, you know where I’ll be. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Truly. I’d like to return the favor if I can.” 

It's kindly meant, but the walls spring up immediately nonetheless. Grief is not a thing that can be outrun, and she knows this, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try. “Yeah. Thanks, Steve,” she says abruptly, but Steve puts a hand on her forearm before she can turn to leave. 

“Sorry, Commander. I know you’re busy. One more thing.” 

“Yeah?” She’s not sure she likes the look on his face. All sympathy and pity. Granted, it’s probably a face she’s made at him plenty of times. She should have known better. She should have known their places would switch sooner rather than later. 

“I’m not the only one, you know, that’s going to want to help. You’ve got a great crew that would follow you anywhere, do anything for you. Over the next few weeks, they’re going to ask how you are a lot, and make clumsy attempts to distract you. And you’ve got to let them. You’re going to want to work. You’re gonna want to do nothing at all but work, and shut everyone and everything else out. But you can’t. You just can’t. Any other mission, maybe that would work. But this?” He gestures to the memorial wall. 

“This is too important. You can’t shut yourself off to it.” 

She's going to try to outrun it. He's telling her she can't and he's probably right but she knows she'll try anyway. Her eyes fall on a woman standing a few feet from them. She is hugging herself, bent forward slightly as if the very weight of her grief is dragging her down. Shepard stands a little straighter herself. “But there’s not…there’s no time.” 

“There is, Shepard. Believe me. For this, there is.”

The Citadel ends the station-wide lock down. They're finally clear to leave. She can't get away fast enough, can't get back to the quiet of the Normandy fast enough. But once they are away, once she is out of anyone’s sight, exhaustion sets in and Shepard moves at a glacial pace. She sits at her desk and sighs, slumping a little. In the privacy of her cabin it doesn't matter that she is too tired to sit up straight. She makes a cursory check of her messages. It’s a bunch of the usual. Requests for her help and those breathless thank you notes that always make her feel uncomfortable. One from Bakara that she wishes desperately she could show to Mordin. And then - 

_Siha -_

Shepard jerks back as if struck. She blinks and scrubs a hand over her face, thinking perhaps that she has imagined it, that she’s so tired she’s hallucinating messages from Thane. She forces herself to exhale, forces herself to return to the terminal. How, and when? It doesn’t matter. She reads the message, slowly and line by line, stopping several times to dash away the tears that blur her vision. She reaches the end of Thane’s last words to her. The terminal glows blankly. Shepard lowers her head and sobs. This is all she has left of him - a message, a few photographs, and her imperfect human memory. Eventually, she’ll forget. This last realization stills her heaving chest almost instantly. 

Not Thane, of course, she won’t forget him, but she’ll forget things like what they talked about all those long nights in life support when she couldn’t sleep, she’ll forget the way his face would change when she made a joke and she’ll forget what it did to her when she realized that was how he smiled. She’ll forget the way he said her name, and she’ll forget the hours in the dark, when the only sound was the hum of the Normandy and the sound of his labored breathing. 

“Commander. Admiral Hackett is on vidcom.” Traynor’s voice filters in abruptly. It’s like being jolted awake. Shepard has to actually think about what that means and how she must respond. 

Lost in another. That’s what Thane had called it. 

What was that Steve said about time? Hers has already run out. “Okay,” she answers finally. Her voice shakes. She clears her throat and tries again. “Okay. Five minutes.” 

There’s not much she can do about her appearance except yank a comb through her hair and splash cold water on her red face. Honestly, she doubts Hackett will even notice. Anderson, though…maybe it’s just a hitch in the signal, but Shepard thinks maybe something changes in his face when he looks at her. If she really looks that bad - bad enough that it even shows through on vid - he doesn’t say anything, not in front of Hackett. 

That bringing Ashley back on would prove unpopular with some of the crew was not a thought that had occurred to Shepard, not until Joker made a snide remark about it. But when all of that debriefing is done, she steps into the war room and right into earshot of an argument between Garrus and Ashley. 

“I did what I could with the information I had in front of me,” Ashley is saying, arms crossed tight across her chest. “Can you honestly say you would have done anything different?” It’s a soldier’s tone that Shepard knows well, one meant to convince the speaker just as much as it is meant to convince the other party. 

“I wouldn't have pulled a gun on my friend.” 

“The place is crawling with Cerberus and then you guys show up. What was I supposed to think?” 

“So you automatically jump to Shepard as the assassin? Thane _died_ fighting the real one - ”

“And how was I supposed to know - ”

“Is there a problem?” Shepard interrupts, and they both turn to gape at her. There’s a long, uncomfortable silence. Are her eyes still red? Probably. 

“Er, no,” Garrus says at length. 

“Good. Don’t make me turn this war around.” 

“What?” Garrus asks blankly, but Ashley stands a little straighter, drops her hands to her sides, and nods once. 

“No, ma’am.” 

Shepard doesn’t dwell on it; it’s not the first time she’s had to break up a disagreement between her squadmates, and she doubts it will be the last. So when Ashley appears at her elbow a few hours later, asking if Shepard’s had anything to eat yet, at first she doesn’t think anything of it. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about,” Ashley said in the elevator down the crew deck, shifting her weight from foot to foot. 

“So?” Shepard gestures vaguely to the ship. “Is she just like you remember?” 

“She’s…more familiar than I thought she would be.” Ashley spears something that is maybe a green bean with her fork and studies it thoughtfully. “Food’s actually a little bit better. And, I mean, sure, all of these retrofits, and the unshackled AI - but something feels the same. Her…soul, I guess? For lack of a better term.” 

“Her soul? That was surprisingly poetic.” 

Ashley ducks her head and grins, more at ease. “Look, Shepard, I just wanted you to know I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t completely committed to it.” 

“I know.” If Ashley has any remaining doubts about Shepard’s loyalty, they are small enough to be squashed. Or else she would have refused Shepard’s offer and taken Hackett’s instead. What they are doing is too important for doubt to be a distraction. 

“So what happened earlier - it won’t happen again. I talked to Garrus and he feels the same way.” 

“I appreciate it. But I wasn’t worried it would. Nobody’s at their best today.” 

Ashley seems almost disappointed, as if she would have rather have Shepard’s anger than forgiveness. “Nobody? Not even you?” 

“You know I’m not, Ash.” 

“Can I - tell you about something from when I was in the hospital?” 

She wants to say something about Thane, Shepard realizes. “Sure,” she says slowly. 

“You know, at first I didn’t understand why - why this random drell was following me around.” 

She remembers Thane’s promise to look after Ashley. At the time Shepard couldn’t fathom what she would need protecting from in the hospital, but she had chalked it up to the paranoia of an ex-assassin and a desire to be useful. “I can see where that would be a little disconcerting.” 

“Right? When he introduced himself, he said something like, ‘but everyone else in this hospital knows me by a false name because my enemies are everywhere’. I was like, ‘uh, okay, congratulations?’” 

Shepard cannot help but laugh at this, given that her first impression of Thane was much the same. Encouraged, Ashley presses on. “It’s fine, though, because once I figured out what was going on, we swapped stories about you.” 

“Wait. You and Thane _gossiped_ about me?” 

“Well, yeah. What else were we supposed to do?” Ashley’s smile fades a bit. “I could tell, you know. When you came to visit, that there was something on your mind besides the war.” 

“Ashley - ”

“No, I get it, I really do. There are some things you’d rather handle on your own. We were talking about you, once, and how you don’t like to ask for help, and he said that you spend so much time and energy worrying about all of us, that the least we could do for you is keep an eye on each other. Shepard…I’m just sorry I didn’t keep up my end of that bargain.” 

“Ashley,” she says again. “It wasn’t your fault,” Shepard manages, before her throat becomes too tight to speak. 

“You know it wasn’t your fault, either, right?” Ashley asks softly. 

Shepard doesn’t answer, head bowed. Idly she picks up her fork again and nudges the food on her tray. “You really think this is better?” she asks, at length, and Ashley laughs abruptly. 

Ashley said it wasn’t Shepard’s fault, but Ashley wasn’t there. If only Shepard had been a little faster. She could have stopped Leng. If only she’d stayed with Thane, left the Council to their fate. Then, maybe… 

Shepard doesn’t even attempt to sleep, and the early hours of third watch find her returning to the crew deck to make a cup of tea. The observation deck is empty, as she expected it to be. Shepard pauses as she passes the bar, before uncapping a bottle of bourbon and adding a splash to her mug. She studies the mug, then the bottle, then adds another splash. Her mother used to make hot toddies when she was on Christmas leave, and they would stay up late on Christmas Eve and talk, just the two of them. Shepard’s cup is missing the requisite honey and lemon, but the spice of the bourbon in the back of her throat makes her think of those nights anyway. 

She has brought her datapad with her, intending to get some work done, but instead she simply rereads Thane’s message, even though every word leaves her more raw than the last. When she finishes, she sets the datapad on the table, looks out the window, and thinks about death. Shepard is pretty sure that she isn’t supposed to remember dying. And she doesn’t, at least not with any kind of conscious clarity, but she figures that Miranda was supposed to scrub all traces of it from her brain. And it’s there, it’s definitely there. She dreams about drifting through space, grasping blindly for something to hold on to, about as often as she dreams about Earth. Once in a while, she finds herself checking her suit for a tear that she knows isn’t there. Honestly, she’s glad she doesn’t remember any more than that. She would probably never sleep again if she did.

Then the door opens, and Garrus walks in. “Oh. Shepard. Mind some company?” 

She waited until well after the watch change specifically to avoid bumping into anyone else. Shepard intended to be alone with her drink and her thoughts and her tears, and she almost says so; he’s certainly done much the same to her before. But then, if that were really what she wanted, wouldn’t she have just stayed in her cabin? 

“No,” she says finally, gesturing to the empty seat beside her. “Don’t think I’ll be very good company tonight, though.” 

“Hate to break it to you, but I don’t hang out with you for your sparkling wit.” 

“Ouch,” she mutters. 

Garrus approaches the bar and examines his choices, humming in disappointment. 

“Nothing good?” 

“Not really. What are you drinking?” he asks, as if her drink wouldn’t kill him. 

“A hot toddy.” 

“A what now?” 

“It’s what my mom always drank.” 

“Have you heard anything?” 

“No.” She is surprised when her voice breaks. Garrus says nothing but sits heavily beside her. She makes no attempt to hide her tears, just lets them fall, the mug of now lukewarm-tea still clenched in her hands; still, Garrus says nothing, for which she is glad. “Thane sent me a message,” she says finally, nodding towards the datapad. “He must have arranged it so I wouldn’t get it until after he died. He spent…so much time thinking about dying.” 

Garrus doesn’t seem to know how to respond. “He had time to prepare,” he offers, lamely. 

“So did I.” But she didn’t think about it, not really; she never truly considered what it meant to love a dying man. “I guess I just thought I’d have more warning. I knew we didn’t have much time left, but I thought we had…I thought it would be enough.” 

“We will get that Cerberus bastard,” Garrus says, very quietly, because he is quick to jump to revenge, a tool to occupy the hands and mind, but Shepard’s white-hot fury towards Leng (and herself, if she’s being honest) has long since been doused in the tidal wave of her grief. She doesn’t answer, but looks back over her shoulder at the stars winking just beyond the panel of glass. 

“I’d forgotten,” she whispers, “that sometimes death isn’t like what happened to me.” She has never spoken a word about her death to any of them; she’s never cried in front of any of them, either. 

Garrus hums uncomfortably. “Shepard - ”

“And it’s not always like what we see every day. Sometimes you have the people you love with you, and you close your eyes and just go.” 

Garrus puts an arm around her trembling shoulders and pulls her close. She rests her forehead against his chest and cries, for Thane and her own broken heart, and because she knows her death, when it comes for her a second time, will be nothing like his. 

Garrus ends up persuading her to sleep at least a little before they reach the Far Rim and the Quarians. It’s good to see Tali again, and good to have something else to focus on. Taking down a Reaper, getting the Quarians and the Geth to work together - it’s a victory she lets herself have. Legion hurts still, of course, but sitting on Rannoch with Tali is a balm for both of them.

Shepard still wants nothing to do with the Citadel for the foreseeable future - she hasn’t even told anyone yet about Hackett’s order for shore leave - but at the Asari councilor’s request, she lays in the course anyway. 

When Shepard next descends to the crew deck, Tali is standing in front of the memorial. Shepard has gotten good at ignoring it as just another part of the ship, something else to walk by on her way to the med bay or to talk to Liara. Tali turns at the whoosh of the elevator doors, and just looks at her for a moment. “Oh, Shepard. When?” 

She doesn’t want to say it aloud. She almost wishes Tali would just go talk to Garrus or someone about it. Shepard inhales sharply and steps forward to stand next to Tali. “When Cerberus attacked the Citadel. He was in no condition to fight, but he did it anyway. I think part of him wanted it to happen on his terms.” 

“And…Mordin?” 

“Tuchanka. Curing the genophage. He said someone else might get it wrong.” 

Tali is silent for a long moment. “We’ve been selfish. Showing up here and dumping all of our problems in your lap.” 

“Um, it’s not like I got nothing out of helping you.” 

“But I must have sounded so childish to you on Rannoch, prattling on about what I’ve lost.”

“Everyone on this ship has lost someone. Not just me.” 

Tali seems unconvinced by this. She turns to face Shepard. “But you - are you all right?” 

Like Garrus, it is somehow harder to lie to Tali. Or maybe it’s not harder, really; maybe she just can’t be bothered to lie to someone who’s known her for so long and been with her for so much. “I’m not sleeping much. Everyone tells me to take breaks when I can but if I slow down I just -” The words catch abruptly in her throat. Grief isn’t something that ever really goes away - Shepard has known this since she was sixteen when they buried her father - but these sudden upwells of it still manage to catch her off guard. She’s a child playing on the beach, until a sudden wave sweeps her from the safety of the shore. Tali hugs her tightly. Shepard lets her head rest on Tali’s shoulder. 

Tali runs fingers through her hair once, and then announces: “I want you to teach me to play cards.” 

Shepard pulls away. “You what?” 

“That big green table in the observation deck. That’s what it’s for, right? I’ve always wanted to learn…poker.” 

What was it Steve had said about clumsy attempts to distract her? “I’m not very good at poker.” 

“Yeah, that’s what James said. And he said he could teach me to play a version called…strip poker?” 

Shepard just groans. Tali giggles. “I like him. He’s funny. But let me know if you ever want help keeping him in line.” 

“Hm. Maybe. I’m glad you’re here.” Tali’s been there from the start, back when this whole thing started. It seems like a thousand years ago. “Even though you could be home right now. I didn’t expect you to choose us, but I was hoping you would. How’s that for selfish?” 

“Shepard,” Tali sighs, “you don’t have a selfish bone in your body.” 

She may not be selfish but she is a fool. Never has she been caught so off guard. Hackett has instructed her to shake it off, what happened on Thessia. Shepard knows he’s right, but still, easier said than done, especially when the whole damn ship stops her to ask how she’s doing, or offer empty words of encouragement. At least that’s how it feels. She hasn’t seen Liara at all since Tali asked Shepard to check on her, and that was nearly a day ago. Liara disappearing headfirst into her work is not unusual in and of itself, but this time is different. Shepard is intimately familiar with the siren call of work at a time like this. 

“Liara? Can I come in?” 

Liara answers in the affirmative, distractedly, and Shepard enters, closing the door behind her. Liara barely acknowledges her, barely looks up from the terminal. Shepard leans against the door and watches her for a moment. “How about a break?” 

“Hm? Oh, no, I’d really better finish - ”

“Dr. T’Soni has been working for the past six hours,” Glyph offers helpfully; Liara turns and shoots him a dirty look. 

“Liara…” 

“As if you’re one to talk, Shepard,” Liara snaps. She pauses, hands hovering over the keyboard, and she turns to look back at Shepard. “I’m sorry. You’re probably right.” She steps away from the terminal slowly, as if doing so is physically painful, and crosses the room to sit on the edge of her bed. 

“It’s okay. I know how tempting it is, to just throw yourself at a problem and ignore everything else.” 

“I wish I could be a little more like you sometimes. Strong.” 

“I - you think I’m strong?” 

“You know you are. You know most people would have broken a long time ago.” 

Shepard crosses the room and comes to sit beside Liara on the edge of her bed. “If that’s true, it’s because I’ve always had good people backing me up.” 

Liara continues as if she hasn’t heard. “Sometimes I wonder if the secret is just to not let yourself feel anymore.” 

Shepard is silent for a long moment. She’s thinking about Menae, about the little boy on Earth, about Mordin’s quiet acceptance, about the downed Asari gunships, about Thane slumped against a wall, bleeding. “You think…do you think I don’t feel? Liara, I feel them all. Every single loss. I’m just trying to make sure that they weren’t in vain.” 

Liara rests her head against Shepard’s shoulder. She says nothing for a long time. “I know. But you never let it show.” 

Liara is a warm, comforting weight against her shoulder. “I can’t,” Shepard says. When Liara says her name next it sounds like she’s choking back tears. 

“Can I do anything?” Shepard asks. 

“Just stay here, please. For a little while.” 

Shepard reaches around and drapes an arm across Liara’s shoulders. “Sure. For as long as you want.” 

The funny thing about human memory is how easily affected it is by the recollections of others. Her fear had been forgetting him, and she doesn’t know why it has taken her so long to realize that they wouldn’t let that happen to her. Her crew, her friends, her family. It is easier than she thought it would be, to talk about him and to hear others talk about him. Not easy, by any means, but it hurts less than she was expecting. It’s still a raw wound but the intensity of the pain has tapered off somewhat. 

“I hope it helps, more than it hurts,” Kolyat said, when he told her about the messages. What about both? Help, and hurt. Once they have all gone, she presses play on the first message. She thinks she has prepared herself to do so, but at the sight of him, the way he says her name, Shepard sucks in her breath and sits heavily on the edge of the bed. She is in tears before the end of the second message. Knowing that he tried to reach her, knowing that the Alliance denied her even this small thing, draws fresh blood from a wound just beginning to heal. 

Damn. And she was so proud of herself for making it through the memorial without crying. 

But what surprises her is that once the last message is over, her tears dry quicker than they have before. What surprises her are the good memories that rise to the surface to greet her. She’ll take any scrap of goodness she can get, this close to the end. And when it does end she won’t face it alone, just as she didn’t face Thane’s death alone. And if it ends the way Shepard thinks it will, it’s only a matter of time before she will no longer have to rely on memories alone. 

She hears the ping of a new message from downstairs - she’s still not used to being in such an open space, so unlike the Normandy or any of the ships she grew up on with all of their enclosed spaces and tight corners - and after a moment she hauls herself up off the bed and shuffles downstairs to check. It’s from Joker. _‘Hey. We still on for tomorrow? Like I said, no one’s going to force you to throw a party.’_ She thinks about what Steve said all that time ago. She can’t forget why they’re here, why they’re fighting, why they needed shore leave in the first place. It isn’t over yet. Until it is, there are no people in the galaxy she would rather spend it with. 

She taps out a reply. 

_‘Of course we’re still on. Be there, or you’re fired.’_


End file.
